


good soul in my feet

by theamazingpeterparker



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drinking Games, Drunk Steve Rogers, Drunk Thor, Fluff, Fourth of July, M/M, Party Games, Romantic Friendship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:46:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7393561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamazingpeterparker/pseuds/theamazingpeterparker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Steve won’t be drinking any Asgardian alcohol,” Bucky laughs but Steve can tell he’s serious, sounds like they’re teenagers again and Bucky’s playing Mom. Thor’s smile twitches the slightest bit and he tips the flask towards to Steve.<br/>“You know what? Pour me a shot,” Steve decides, holding out his cup. Bucky glares at him but Thor laughs, bright and warm, and unscrews the cap.</i>
</p><p>Steve and Thor get drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	good soul in my feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [falsetto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsetto/gifts).



> PLEASE PICTURE STEVE ROGERS WEARING AN AMERICAN FLAG TANKTOP AND JORTS THROUGHOUT THIS FIC. i had nowhere i could have written this in casually. but that's what he's wearing.

Steve’s never been drunk.

Only Natasha, Bucky, and Sam know this for certain, and the rest of the group either doesn’t know or doesn’t care. Steve doesn’t like the taste of beer but he’s nursing some local microbrew that Clint is very excited about. Really, Steve’s just thinking about how much he would rather have a cup of the pink lemonade that Wanda’s pouring for T’Challa across the patio. “--fermented for _five weeks_ ,” Clint says with a strong enough passion that Steve pulls his attention back to the bottle in his hand. Steve scrunches up his face involuntarily. “What?”

Clint makes an exaggerated noise of disappointment before plucking the bottle from Steve’s grasp. “You don’t deserve this,” he tells Steve firmly, pointing at him with his middle finger as he doublefists the two bottles. Steve gives him a sympathetic (but not entirely genuine) _sorry_ and Clint stalks off, passing off Steve’s barely-touched bottle to Sam.

Free from beer-tasting hell, Steve scampers to the barbeque for lemonade, pretzels, and safety with Thor and Wanda and Bucky. Bucky’s seen the whole exchange. “Swapping spit with Wilson?” he asks with raised brows. Steve waves a dismissive hand.

“Clint’s decided that I’m not worthy enough to share his beer,” Steve says, face mockingly stricken.

Bucky cracks a grin. “Don’t let the press get wind of _that_. I can see the headlines. _Captain America Hates Craft Beer, The Most American Thing Since Football and McDonalds_.”

“Don’t really like those things, either,” Steve mutters and grins when Bucky shoots back, “you goddamn communist.”

 Wanda smacks Bucky with the punch bowl ladle and Steve slings an arm around her, reaching for one of the lemonade cups that she hands up to him. There’s something hot that pinches the back of Steve’s neck that’s replaced with a warm hand. “Don’t feel bad, Rogers,” Thor says as he rounds Steve and Wanda, wielding the barbeque tongs that he pokes Steve’s bicep with again. “If it doesn’t do the trick, it’s not worth the taste.”

“Exactly,” Steve replies gratefully, giving Thor a nod and raising his lemonade cup to the god. Bucky snorts into his iced tea and comes up spluttering and laughing. “Buck,” Steve says with half concern and half warning. Bucky ignores him.

“Steve’s never been drunk a day in his hundred-year-old-life,” Bucky laughs and Thor raises his eyebrows in surprise. “He took a shot of whiskey with me when we were, like, sixteen and he threw up.”

Wanda politely buries her giggle in a cough but Steve steps away from the three of them, offended anyway. “Sorry that chronically-ill teenager Steve Rogers wasn’t a _party animal,_ ” Steve huffs at Bucky and Thor cracks a wide grin. Bucky pouts and gives Steve a familiar shrug that silently says _that’s fair_.

Thor’s distracted, handing off the grill tongs to Wanda and fishing inside his jacket pocket for something. What he pulls out is a gold flask encrusted with tiny rubies and sapphires that fits neatly in his palm and honestly Steve wouldn’t expect anything less from Asgard. Thor holds it up towards Steve. “Asgardian liquor,” he says slowly, toying with the cap, “I’d be willing to bet is strong enough to get a supersoldier more than a bit tipsy.”

It’s an offer that’s layered with Thor’s usual competitiveness and Steve’s not entirely sure if he wants to bite. It’s Tony’s annual Fourth of July barbeque and it’s hardly three o’clock, guests filtering in and out of Stark tower and all of them wanting to meet Steve and the other Avengers. And drunk Clint usually requires some supervising, and so does drunk Bucky, and Steve’s never _not_ been in control of his own actions before, and--

“Steve won’t be drinking any Asgardian alcohol,” Bucky laughs but Steve can tell he’s serious, sounds like they’re teenagers again and Bucky’s playing Mom. Thor’s smile twitches the slightest bit and he tips the flask towards to Steve.

“You know what? Pour me a shot,” Steve decides, holding out his cup. Bucky glares at him but Thor laughs, bright and warm, and unscrews the cap.

The liquid inside is clear and smells sweet, mixing easily into the remains of Steve’s lemonade and Thor tips a shot of his own into a solo cup, him and Steve cheering to each other before sipping. Steve comes up grimacing and Bucky barks a laugh. “If you can’t handle whiskey, doll, Asgardian liquor seems--”

“--No, it’s not bad,” Steve decides after a moment. It’s just not exactly what he was expecting. There’s no alcoholic bite at the back of his throat like he was expecting but it’s just overwhelmingly sweet, like syrup. Thor’s watching Steve with an intensity that he usually only has in battle. It makes Steve feel self-conscious and he tips his cup back just for an excuse to break eyecontact.

“Shall we find out if Captain America is a lightweight?” Thor laughs. Bucky shakes his head and claps Steve on the back. Steve takes it to mean _I got your back if you go overboard_.

:::

Bucky doesn’t have Steve’s back when he goes overboard. He and Thor are both only four Asgardian Lemonades in when Bucky says casually, “Steve’s never played beer pong, either.”

Steve’s fairly certain he’s drunk now, because instead of acknowledging the fact that Bucky is probably only egging him on, he immediately latches onto the notion that he would be anything less than fucking _spectacular_ at beer pong. “ _Barnes_ ,” Steve demands. “I grew up in the Great Depression.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Thor sniffs. He’s better at sounding sober but he’s unsteady on his feet, crossing his arms but he tips to the side and stumbles. Bucky and Clint exchange a look and grin at the same time.

“I’ll get cups,” Clint says at the same moment Bucky says, “I’ll get drinks.”

Thor surrenders his flask easily to Bucky and Tony tows Steve away by the shoulder. He snaps in Steve’s face a few times. Tony’s possibly the most sober of everyone (but at this point, that may not be saying much), so Steve concentrates hard on what he has to say. “Rogers,” Tony says, one hand on Steve’s shoulder and keeping his eyes locked seriously with Steve’s. “You’re playing for all of mankind. You have to win this game for _all of humanity_ , Cap. As much as I love Thor, his Asgardian ass could be knocked down a few pegs. You hear me?”

“I’m drunk, not deaf--” Steve starts but it comes out mostly slurred. Tony’s mouth sets into a thin line. “Remember New York? Sokovia? Neither of them compares to the importance of this beer pong game.”

Steve frowns. New York and Sokovia were _pretty_ important. “Really?” he asks cautiously, squinting at Tony. Tony’s mouth twitches into an almost smile but he nods solemnly. “Get get ‘im, tiger.”

Tony and Nat give Steve a rushed rundown of rules before he’s shoved in front of a card table with triangles of cups set up on either end and Thor waiting for him with a sharp smile. “There’s no pressure here, Cap,” he says, bouncing a pingpong ball against the tabletop, “Just your friendly local alien versus the resident senior citizen, no?”

It’s intense and competitive. Of course it is. Steve has it in his mind that he has to win to save the planet and also that he’s the best hundred-year-old beer pong player this planet has ever _seen_. He sinks his first toss and Thor tosses back the cup’s contents, shallow shots of Asgardian liquor watered down with Sprite. Thor lands the next ball in the front cup of Steve’s triangle.

It turns out they’re pretty evenly matched. Even drunk, Steve is able to focus in on throwing the ball into each cup and Thor matches his pace. They each only miss two cups towards the end, Thor beating Steve by one cup and Steve throws his pingpong ball in anger and falls to sit on the ground and pout. The loss doesn’t really seem to matter to anyone--Tony stopped watching five minutes ago--but the cool stone patio feels good against his calves and he’s...drunk, he’s really drunk so it feels good to sit and let the world softly spin and warp around him without worrying about staying on his feet. A pair of boots approach and Steve looks up to see Bucky crouching down to him. Steve sticks out his bottom lip. “I don’t know if I like being drunk.”

Bucky claps him on the shoulder and pulls him to his feet, pressing a water bottle into Steve’s hands as he rises. Thor rounds the table and takes Steve by the shoulders. Steve doesn’t know if he’s helping keep Steve steady or himself. “Good game, Cap.” He sounds genuine but Steve is still upset that he missed the game by one cup. Tony’s voice still ringing _win for all of humanity_. “Flip cup,” Steve demands. Thor raises his eyebrows and opens his arms. “You’re on.”

Team Steve is Steve, Bucky, Clint, and Wanda. Team Thor is Thor, Natasha, Tony, and T’Challa. It’s an easy but quick game. Team Cap wins it by half a second of Wanda putting her cup down before T’Challa. Thor’s face is stony when he points to Steve and says, “Arm wrestling.”

Tony is all too happy to encourage their drunken competitions, dragging two patio chairs to an endtable and Steve offers Thor his hand. This is hardly a competition-- Steve strains his hardest and Thor feels like he’s just humoring Steve, watching his bicep flex with a lazy, catlike grin before he exerts his full force and brings Steve’s knuckles down on the edge of the table. Thor gives Steve a smug shrug, silently daring him to come up with another competition. Steve fishmouths and takes a step forward, holding up a finger. He’s about to suggest thumb wrestling when his feet stumble over each other and he falls, promptly thwacking his face onto the edge of the patio table.

He sits up feeling a dull throb but Thor frowns and crouches, pressing the pad of his thumb to the hottest pain on Steve’s face. “Cut yourself, babe,” he mumbles and his finger pulls back red. Steve hums a _huh_ and raises his hand to the wound, a small, swelling gash on his cheekbone. Everyone’s laughing but Thor tows Steve carefully to his feet. “Frozen peas are in the wetbar freezer,” Tony calls to them on their way inside, Steve’s arm over Thor’s shoulder and Thor’s arm around Steve’s waist. They’re more or less helping each other stumble inside.

Thor’s hands are exceptionally gentle considering the wound and frozen peas and drunkenness. He’s still a little unsteady and centers himself with one hand on Steve’s neck, the other holding the bag of frozen peas gently against Steve’s sore cheek. “Sorry,” he says with a smile. Steve can’t even find it in himself to be mad. Thor’s hand slips and Steve lets himself fall forward into Thor’s chest for a moment. Being drunk is exhausting. Thor’s hand moves around to the nape of Steve’s neck and he squeezes gently. Thor mumbles, “Hope that doesn’t bruise.” His face is ducked into the crown of Steve’s head and Steve feels his voice rather than hears it. “Would be a shame to deface America the Beautiful.”

Steve’s brain slips over ten different witty replies but the only one that makes it to his mouth is, “You’re really handsome.”

Thor doesn’t seem to catch it at first, busy picking up the droopy bag of peas from the ground but when he comes back up he’s smiling. His eyes flit down Steve’s face and settle on his mouth for a long moment and then he raises a hand, rests it on Steve’s chin and runs his thumb over the edge of Steve’s bottom lip. “I think the peas did the trick,” he says. Steve gives a soft, enthusiastic _yay_ and hops down off the counter. He snakes an arm around Thor’s waist and tows him across the room to watch Sam and T’Challa attempt to annihilate each other at MarioKart. Rainbow Road is in space, which Steve doesn’t understand at all, but he finally has a comeback for Thor and it’s only twenty minutes delayed. Thor’s standing with his arms crossed behind the couch and he looks sober and solemn but as soon as Steve pokes him in the middle of the chest, Thor breaks into a grin and puts Steve in a brief headlock. Steve squirms until he’s tucked solidly into Thor’s side. “Out of this world,” Steve giggles, working a finger under Thor’s ribs and the god lets out a squawk, “You’re out of this world!”

“What?” Thor’s still caught in the middle of a laugh, “Yes? I am. I am not from this world?” he quirks his head, the familiar expression that comes when he doesn’t understand the joke. Steve...doesn’t quite understand the joke either, at least not enough to explain it, so he just nods with it. “Yeah. Yes.”

Thor’s still watching him and Steve glances up, mid-smile and Thor tips down and catches Steve’s lips in a kiss. Thor’s mouth is warm and soft and the kiss is brief enough that nobody else in the room notices or cares. It leaves Steve feeling gooey and thrumming. Thor’s arm is still heavy around Steve’s shoulders and Steve melts into his side, his hand slipping from the small of Thor’s back into the back pocket of his jeans.

:::

They end up wandering back out on the patio for fireworks and a campfire, Steve settling on the patio couch just because he needs to sit, gather his thoughts. Thor’s waving a sparkler around, smiling bright as he watches Wanda manipulate the sparks of the sparkling stick to hover around Thor’s head, illuminating him. Steve burns his marshmallow because he’s too caught up in watching. Thor looks up at Steve across the patio and waves sparks at him.

“You two are,” Natasha laughs from the other side of the couch. Steve looks at her and Nat just shakes her head and shrugs. “Just. Good.”

Steve smiles and crams a marshmallow in his mouth, skewering another one. He roasts it golden and smushes it between a few slabs of chocolate and crackers. Crosses the patio confidently and offers it to Thor.

Thor pinches the little snack between two fingers and then look up curiously at Steve. “I have a little known talent,” Steve tells him, puffing his chest out, “the ability to roast marshmallows perfectly.”

Thor’s eyes go half-lidded and he hums, looking from the s’more back to Steve and takes a step closer. “Not very good at eating them perfectly,” he observes, and before Steve can ask Thor leans in, kissing Steve again. This time his tongue slips over the corner of Steve’s mouth and something tastes sweet. Steve pulls back and touches the edge of his mouth that’s still sticky with the remnants of a marshmallow smear.

Thor eats the whole s’more in one bite, not looking away from Steve as he does so but his cheeks puff up and he tries to smile around the marshmallow. “You couth btme,” he babbles around the sugar and Steve waits patiently for him to chew and swallow before he repeats, “you could’ve beat me. At marshmallow roasting. I only know how to burn them.”

Steve’s been bothering at the puckering scar on his cheek while waiting for Thor to eat and he takes his hand away when he grazes over the still-scabbed middle of the cut. It should have healed by now. Steve vaguely wonders if Asgardian alcohol affects his healing. Steve vaguely reminds himself to never let Tony or T’Challa get a hold of this hypothesis. “I’ll teach you to roast marshmallows,” Steve blurts. Thor raises his eyebrows. “Is that a euphemism?”

Steve bites his lip. “It could be.” God, how long does being drunk last?

Thor ends up crammed next to Steve on the patio couch holding a wooden stick with a marshmallow at the end of it. He’s listening with genuine intensity as Steve nudges Thor’s hand to hold the skewer to the side of the fire, where the flames are less intense. “Now just wait,” Steve says. It’s hard to teach someone to roast marshmallows. Thor gives Steve an incredulous look, “I do not think I am this patient.”

Steve almost smiles until he realizes Thor is serious, looking solemnly down at his marshmallow like he’s silently asking it to roast faster. He’s washed on the light orange light of the campfire, remnants of red white and blue glitter stuck to his temple and in his hair and his face is soft. The laugh-wrinkles around his eyes and mouth are more prominent now in the shadows and Steve reaches over, runs his fingers along the shallow ridges next to his eyes that deepen when Thor looks over and smiles at him. Steve kisses his cheek. Thor’s marshmallow catches on fire.

They’re alone on the patio after a while, s’mores ingredients diminished and tracks of firework ash leaving black skid marks across the stone. Most of the party has moved inside but Steve’s hit a wall of exhaustion, a headache ebbing gently at the edges of his brain and his legs feel like jelly. He’s sprawled out on the patio couch with his head in Thor’s lap, Thor pointing up into the clear summer sky and pointing out constellations. Asgard and Earth have similar constellations but with different names. Steve only knows a few but Thor points out the summer triangle and calls it something in a foreign tongue and Steve laughs softly. He reaches up and wraps his gentle fingers around Thor’s wrist, guiding his still-pointed index finger to the vertex stars and says, “Aquila, Cygnus, Lyra.”

Steve falls asleep sometime during Thor telling him about the Duneyr constellation, fingers carding gently through Steve’s hair.

:::

The sun hasn’t come up yet and the patio is still cool for a July morning. It might be the still-inky skies or maybe he’s still a little drunk but Steve’s heart jumps in his throat. It’s the first time he’s woken up in cold darkness in months and his immediate reaction is panic, trying to dislodge himself from between Thor and the patio couch. His sudden movement has Thor humming sleepily and pulling Steve closer. Steve grunts, “Cold.”

Thor cracks an eye open and rasps, “can’t have that,” flexing his arms to hold Steve tighter. Thor is solid and warm and Steve can hear his heart beating slow and constant. His heartbeat eventually matches pace with the pounding headache behind Steve’s eyesockets. He groans into Thor’s collarbone. Thor’s eyes crinkle in a smile and he presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead. He ruffles his hair and Steve gets that swooping feeling in his stomach again but it’s clearer now without alcohol clouding it. “Stevie’s first hangover,” Thor mumbles gleefully, his arms still resting heavily on Steve’s torso, keeping him in place. Steve pouts and strains experimentally against Thor’s sleepy, heavy grasp before he decides it’s not worth it. Flops back down and twisting to bury his head in Thor’s shoulder.

They lay in warm, easy silence until the sun comes up straight through the east skyscrapers and forces them to smash their faces into the couch cushions until Thor finally drags them to their feet and guides them inside.

Sam’s awake in his workout gear at the kitchen, looks like he’s just got in and he gives a little _ah ha ha_ laugh when Thor and Steve stumble inside, straight to the breakfast bar. “Tell me, Steve,” Sam asks as he drops a handful of berries into a blender, “is an Asgardian hangover as bad as it sounds?”

“Worse,” Steve drops his head into his arms on the counter and Thor’s hand rests on the nape of his neck. “Can you make me a smoothie, Sam.”

Sam barks a laugh. He’s too cheerful for seven in the morning. “You kept teasing me for picking Princess Peach last night. So….no.”

Steve rolls his head over to look up at Thor and he lets out a long, slow whine, leaning until he’s stopped from falling off his stool by Thor’s side. “This is your fault. Fix this.”

Thor’s hand slips down Steve’s back, thumbing over the knobs in his spine. “I have just the fix.”

They walk to the Evergreen Diner and are allowed to seat themselves, picking a small table at the back corner and reaching immediately for the coffee their waitress pours them. Steve buries his head in his arms and drags his pinky through a spilled pile of sugar while Thor orders: “Two cheeseburgers, everything on them and a large basket of fries, please.” If their waitress thinks that cheeseburgers at eight in the morning is weird she keeps it to herself. Steve makes a note to tip her with however much cash he has left in his pockets.

Every time Thor smiles Steve feels a little better. It’s not exactly a romantic swoop that flips in his gut every time Thor compliments him. But Thor is the only one Steve’s been able to be this intimate with without having to worry about not touching him wrong like Bucky, or saying the wrong thing around Sam. Thor falls easily into pace with Steve and they bond over their mutual dislike for credit/debit cards for ten minutes while their food arrives. Theys share their basket of fries, their fingers overlapping each other more than once but it’s not awkward. Thor is eager to engage in physical contact that doesn’t come attached with the strings of expectations or romance. He makes Steve feel safe and solid outside of war and battle. He can’t see himself getting burgers and fries with any other Avenger first thing in the morning, let alone one who can keep up with him.

“You were great at arm wrestling,” Steve says as the memory comes fully back to him. Thor stuffs a fry in his mouth and reaches across the table, swiping his finger against the barely visible scar from Steve’s fall last night.

“You were great at s’mores. And teaching me stars,” Thor says, genuine and soft. They don’t tease each other about their drunk personalities, which Steve appreciates. They make their way through the rest of their breakfast. Steve tells Thor the history of the Fourth of July and Thor tells Steve the Duneyr constellation myth again. Tells Steve that it was his favorite story as a child.

They leave their waitress a twenty dollar tip and get donuts and more coffee on their walk back to Stark Tower. By the end of his burger and his third cup of coffee, Steve thinks that maybe Thor has taught him a new type of falling in love.

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry. i got cavities writing this  
> shoutout to sharon for yelling with me about this at like midnight for the last like week.
> 
> im on [ tumblr!](http://foxesmouth.tumblr.com)


End file.
